The World at War
by Morning Lullabies
Summary: A series of connected one-shot type stories centered on the dark side of WWII not illustrated in canon. Later chapters will not be for the faint of heart- will touch on uncomfortable subjects. Various pairings mentioned/hinted at.
1. Betrayal

_I hate the idea of causes, and if I had to choose between betraying my country and betraying my friend, I hope I should have the guts to betray my country.__**-E. M. Forster**_

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><p><strong>AN: **This is a series of one-shot type fics centering on the darker side of WWII, which we don't often see in Hetalia. I will try to tackle most of the main/central characters in these fics, and any hardships they would have faced in the war, such as major attacks on their countries, the Holocaust, etc. The rating WILL go up, due to the graphic nature of some of the fics.

This is a de-anon from the Kink Meme.

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><p><span>Chapter 1: Betrayal- The Attack on Pearl Harbor<span>

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><p>Alfred stared down into the almost empty pill bottle. His stomach was hurting again. Human medication would help, of course. It was a reoccurring ulcer after all; one that came around the same time every year: December 7.<p>

Reoccurring wounds and illnesses for nations were not uncommon. Al knew this, even though he pretended to ignore it every year when England spent the whole week of or before July 4 drunk and angry, or laid up in bed with fever. It was the only week out of the entire year that the American didn't speak to his lover. It was a week every year that he regretted until Arthur assured him that he still loved him, even if he had left him several drunk, passionate voicemails about what a "bloody wanker" he was the previous week.

Yet, this was one day out of the year that Alfred could sympathize with England, and it made him feel like a complete idiot, and a complete jerk. He had known the relationship between Japan's bosses and his own were strained, and that they had been since the 1920s. He and Kiku had even had a slight disagreement (albeit a drunk disagreement) over his invasion of Manchuria in 1931. All had been forgiven, however, as Kiku explained that the invasion had been without order of his boss in the first place, and that releasing the state into its own government with Japan at war so near was impractical.

He had been so naïve. He had believed his friend had known nothing of the horrible raids, bombings and deaths of innocent civilians in Manchuria. So he forgave him, when his nation's people couldn't, and ignored the rising tensions like a child ignored their parents' arguments. Why shouldn't he? They were undergoing peace negotiations, so that the United States could remain neutral. Alfred had no desire to fight a war with his economy trying to make a turn around, anyway.

He forgave him repeatedly until the morning of December 7, 1941.

...

"_Air raid, Pearl Harbor. This is not a drill."_

That morning he awoke to an alarm. It had been his luck (good or bad he still had yet to decide) that he was stationed in Hawaii. Then there was the bomb that shook the earth beneath him. He knew who it was, and the deep sense of betrayal that filled him made him sick. Hawaii wasn't even a state, and still they were bombing it.

Gritting his teeth, Alfred climbed out of his bed near Hickam Field, pulled on his uniform and bomber jacket, and stepped out to find his plane. When he reached the air field, he saw something that made his blood run cold. Planes burned, destroyed and shattered. They had been unprepared for the attack, that Alfred had so stupidly ignored the signs of. The planes were wingtip to wingtip, as they had left them the previous day, making it almost impossible to launch a counter attack, as the attacking Mitsubishi A6Ms flew overhead. When the first wave of danger had passed, Alfred quickly assessed the damage. The planes that were usable were trapped by the debris, and the ones that weren't trapped would need preparation. There would be little to no air retaliation. His opponent had been smart.

He watched as another group of Zekes headed towards the field. If there had been any doubt before about who was launching the attack, now there was none.

His stomach hurt. The betrayal sunk like a rock in his belly.

"_Air raid, Pearl Harbor. This is not a drill."_

Another warning siren went off, and he ran for cover and hit the ground. He couldn't lift his head to see the attack. He was too close to the air field. But he could hear the screams and shouts of the American soldiers who bravely ran and attempted to start the planes that weren't shut in. Some reached the planes, and as the bile rose in his throat, Alfred could feel, as all nations could when someone died in their service, the ones who didn't, and were either shot down or bombed with their plane.

He crawled inside carefully, making sure to stay out of range of the attack the best he could. Alfred lifted up the nearest gun, knowing his counter attacks from the ground would be futile. Zekes were long range. Arthur had spoken of their advanced technology and how they had a kill ratio of 12:1 when he last had the chance to visit.

Alfred knew he had no chance. He knew that taking that chance would further the label that he was moronic and ditzy to the point of being self-destructive by trying to fight back with only a sub machine gun. But he had to try. He had to. He could not let this slight go unpunished.

Alfred crawled out of his hiding place, gun in hand and pointed it at the last plane flying over the field, expecting to be hit with a spray of bullets in retaliation, but before he could pull the trigger, the plane flew lower and turned on its side. In it, he could see the delicate face framed by dark, soft hair cropped close above the ears.

The anger finally bubbled over, as did the consistently rising bile. He saw the coldness in Kiku's eyes, and vomited into the dirt, thoughts of retaliation forgotten in the face of betrayal. He thought of the friendliness the last few months, and of the visits despite their bosses' protests, and knew that from as early as 20 years before that moment he'd been had.

America watched angrily as Japan directed his fire onto a soldier who had finally managed to make it to a plane that might work, and down the man and destroy the plane, blood soaking into the earth beneath the warped metal.

Alfred vomited with the sounds of sirens and bells still sounding in the distant place known as reality.

The next day, he stood before President Franklin D. Roosevelt and declared war on Japan, and watched coldly as the transmission from Japan declaring war on America was received. There would be no blind forgiveness this time. There were some betrayals that you couldn't forgive.

...

America shuddered, swallowed his pill and turned the shower on as hot as was possible, as if he could scald away a nearly 70 year old feeling of being stabbed in the back.

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><p><em>Historical Notes:<em>

_1. The betrayal of the Japanese government by attacking Pearl Harbor is not as deep as the sugarcoated stories say._

_They intentionally did it without warning. They did it after months and months of peace negotiations, deliberately leading on the American government and making thing feel secure, as if the Japanese were their friends. There is even a notation of this in a war diary that they were leading the Americans on with false promises and false diplomacy in order to lure them into a sense of trust, and that they had been doing so for years._

_When the declaration of war came finally on the 8th of December, the Japanese ambassador defended it saying it took too long to translate. Many Americans and Japanese have tried to defend it since then by saying that the Japanese would never NOT follow protocol and attack without an official declaration. However, the aforementioned diary entry has since made it clear that was never the case. They did not want the Americans to be prepared in anyway, even so much as a half hour head start, as the whole purpose of the attack was to weaken the American Pacific resources BEFORE an official war._

_2. The italicized quote used twice in this part is the first official transmission warning of the air strike against Pearl Harbor. It was sent from Patrol Wing Two, the first senior command to respond._

_3. During the air raid, the tactics illustrated in this part are accurate. The Japanese bombed the air fields, Hickam being one, making sure to target the planes that were on the perimeter, ensuring no counter attack from the Americans._

_4. The planes mentioned- Mitsubishi A6M Zeke fighters- were the planes specifically allotted to the attack on Hickam Field, and differed from the other planes used to bomb the actual ships themselves. These planes were chosen due to their long range firing abilities and bombing abilities, and were more suited to thinning out the herd of American fighters resting in the air fields. (They wanted to immobilize air retaliation. Not kill troops.)_


	2. Surrender

_"I love you, and because I love you, I would sooner have you hate me for telling you the truth than adore me for telling you lies." __**- Pietro Aretino**_

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><p><span>Chapter 2: Surrender- Italian Surrender to the Allied Forces<span>__

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><p><strong>-September 3, 1943, 2:00PM, HMS Nelson-<strong>

Veneziano stood behind General Giuseppe Castellano, quieter than he had ever been in his lifetime. Japan would have been horrified at his sacrifice of his honor. Germany…

Germany would be disappointed, and angry at his betrayal.

Feliciano, however, had more pressing matters on his mind at the moment. The Allies had Romano. They had invaded, and America now held Lovino's arm tight in his grip, awaiting the signatures on the document declaring their surrender. If they both agreed, then Lovino would go free, and America and England would fight for them, and protect them from Ludwig's approaching wrath. Feliciano feared his former ally's anger, and power. Yet, as he looked back over at his brother, he knew he had to do something.

Lovino's eyes were sunken in, and his cheekbones stuck out too far to be healthy. His dress uniform hung awkwardly on him, as if it were several sizes too large. Bruises speckled his cheeks and neck, and when Feliciano had watched him walk in, he had possessed a definite limp from the recent invasion of Sicily and his other southernmost islands.

He knew he could not look much better. Ludwig had begun to slip him extra breakfast when his boss was not looking, and had recently let him skip morning training, and began asking him often if he were well. His uniform had felt loose lately, and he had scars on his body from the defeat of his troops. There were large, almost black circles, underneath his eyes. It did not matter how much sleep he was allowed the night before.

He knew what was happening. His people were starving, and they were dying. It would only get worse as the war continued on. He had received a letter from Spain stating that his brother had begun to cough up blood in the mornings. That was when he knew he had to surrender.

His allies were expecting it. That he knew.

Already he had been informed that the German forces that had supposedly been put to protect his mainland in June were a pretense. They were sent there to keep the twin Italies in their place. Romano had been too free in his relationship with Spain. Antonio had not exactly kept it a secret either, and Germany had grown wary of their constant meetings.

Veneziano was also pained to admit he, too, had been too free in his affections. All he had wanted were more friends, and instead he ended up losing the trust of the most important friend he could have, and also the most dangerous.  
>Ludwig did not suffer traitors gladly, no matter how much he had liked them.<p>

Bedell Smith's voice broke his silent contemplation, "Feliciano Vargas and Lovino Vargas, personifications of North and South Italy, do you understand and accept the conditions of this surrender?"

Before the Allied Forces' envoy finished his sentence, Italy's Southern half was nodding his head as vigorously as his condition allowed, and muttering, "Si! Si!"

Feliciano looked over at his brother, who was begging silently with tear-filled eyes for his release, and whispered, "Yes."

General Castellano leaned over the table, after their consent had been placed on record, and signed Pietro Badoglio's name, and then Smith signed on behalf of Eisenhower, who was to become Supreme Allied Commander in Europe.

Alfred released his brother's arm, and while they had only been separated a short time, each ran and embraced the other as if they had not seen each other in years. The Southern Italy collapsed in his twin's arms, unable to stand on his own any longer.

Feliciano knew that some might call him cowardly, and he would admit to that with little shame. He knew what he was. Those same people might also call him stupid, and weak.

No, he was not as smart as some of the other nations, and no, of course he was not as strong as his allies. Ludwig and Kiku were almost overwhelming in their strength, especially the former.

It was also said he would do anything to save his own skin.

He pulled his weak, starving brother to his feet, and knew that what the others said was wrong. There were more important things than saving your own ass, and one of those was to protect your brothers and sisters, no matter the costs.

Lovino began crying, cradling his head in his brother's neck.

"_Va tutto bene, fratello_," Veneziano whispered gently, stroking Lovino's hair. "_Va tutto bene_."

A soft touch to his shoulder made him start, and he turned to see a blonde head with glasses, much like Alfred's, smiling at him, "I'll take him for some food, if you don't mind, Feliciano."

It took a second to place a name with the face, and once he had, Feliciano patted his brother's back, and tried to be cheerful, "Veh, you are not as heavy as I remember, Lovi! Go with Matteo. He will feed you good food. Then, you can come back and tell me how much better you are because I am too weak to pick you up."

"Why don't you come, too? I'm not sure I can make pasta that Lovino won't turn his nose up at. Also, you look like you need some food, too…" Canada looked slightly hopeful at the prospect of not having to cook for a picky eater.

"I can't, Matteo. I have…something I need to do." He braced himself and turned to Alfred, "I need to speak with Germany."

The American bristled, and turned a glare, "The armistice-"

He stood strong under the gaze, though he wanted to turn and run, "I know. Send someone with me if you must, but Ludwig deserves to hear it from me that I have surrendered, and he deserves to know why."

Unaccustomed to either of the Italies insisting upon their way, America agreed in a mild state of surprise to take Feliciano to Germany, and let him explain the terms and conditions of the armistice and surrender.

...

**-Germany, September 8, 1943-**

Ludwig sat at his kitchen table reading and re-reading the telegram sent by the Italian government to the Allies. An armistice would be formed, and Italy would be loyal to the Allied Forces, instead of Nazi Germany. It was signed five days ago, and he still could not wrap his head around the idea that his friend, Veneziano, would surrender to the Allies, when all he had to do was call on Germany for help.

All Feliciano had said was, "I need to help my brother. He is unwell," and Germany, looking at the smaller man's ragged uniform and bony frame, had agreed. Perhaps if he saw Romano, then they would both begin to feel well, instead of looking as if they were on Death's doorstep.

All either of them had to do was say they were hungry, and tired, and that their people were suffering. Ludwig would have given them the time they needed to recover, somehow. Instead, they had betrayed him. Germany's boss had formed a plan after receiving the incriminating telegram, sending his soldiers in to occupy Italy's mainland and force the Allies back out. The Italies would not get far with their treasonous acts, or at least that is what Germany told himself to believe.

His boss had been right when he had told Ludwig that he had no friends, only allies, and his allies would betray him if given the chance.

A knock at the front door interrupted his thoughts. The sound of his front door opening caused him to rise, taking his pistol, clicking off the safety and loading a bullet into the chamber. Only one person would simply walk into his house besides Gilbert, and he had orders concerning them.

"Ludi!" The joyful cry filled his foyer, and Ludwig gritted his teeth against what he was ordered to do next.

The end of the German's pistol brushed the Italian's auburn hair, making him freeze in his tracks, "L-Ludwig…?"

"You betrayed our alliance." The hurt in his voice made him cringe. He was supposed to be angry, damn it!

"I'm sorry, Ludi…" he swallowed a lump of fear sitting in his throat.

"Who brought you?"

"America."

"Why do this? Was this not enough for you?" Oh God, his voice was cracking, and he was sure he was going to cry. Why did the Fuehrer ask such things of him?

Feliciano turned his head, his eyes meeting Ludwig's with a seriousness that he had only seen the smaller man exhibit when it came to pasta and naps.

"They had Lovino," he gave the simplest answer, remembering the letter about his brother's condition. "It was killing us slowly."

The simplest truth was always best.

The gun being held to his head wavered, and then dropped to the side of his former ally. The blond understood the need to protect one's brother, and could see how it could turn a normally cowardly Italy into someone brave enough to turn on another in desperation. He had no idea where his own brother, Prussia, was at the moment. Gilbert had not sent him a letter in months. The last he had seen of him was when his boss separated them following the issue for the order of The Final Solution. Hitler had deemed that his brother may not be pure enough for the Aryan race, due to his albinism.

_"We are just purifying your people, don't worry."_That's what they told him over, and over. He knew it was a lie.

If he knew where Gilbert was, Ludwig would do the same as Italy and fight the lies that Hitler spun, but he still could not allow the Italian to leave. He was under orders to take Italy, and to keep him from Allied control.

With the gun pointed safely at the floor, Feliciano took the chance to run back out the doorway to the protection of America.

Ludwig, reflexes quicker than expected, raised his gun again, aimed and fired. One shot to the leg brought the man down in his doorway, and brought America running with his own pistol drawn. Ludwig shifted his aim for Alfred's forehead, making the younger nation stop.

"Leave." The command was given in English, assuring that it would be understood. The boy had never been one for learning languages other than his own.

"Hey, man, why are you doing this? That isn't cool. Let him go!"

_Because he'll be safer here… The others would kill him faster than he could surrender to them… I need to protect him. I love him._"No. There are orders I cannot betray for friendship."

"You're losing! This will gain you nothing! Let him go!"

_I know… I know… I can't take it anymore… But I must._"I do not care. Get off of my property, or I will do the same to you that I did to him."

"Whatever, Ludwig. Just remember that you're going down, and this will be remembered when the UN puts you on trial." America turned and got into the Jeep that brought the two nations to the house, and rode away.

Soft groans brought his attention back down to his friend, who he had just injured under orders from his boss. Guilt laid itself heavily on his shoulders as he inspected the wound, making sure that the leg was not shattered.

"Italien, I am sorry…" he reached out to touch the wounded man's face, but instead was presented with the back of his head. _Forgive me. Forgive me._

He moved closer to try again, "The Fuehrer-" _Please, forgive me. This was the only way._

This time, Italy lifted himself off the floor as quickly as his throbbing leg would allow him, and walked to the stairs. He never even turned to look back when he managed, "Ludwig… Veh…" His verbal tic, so recognizable and usually happy, sounded tired, and was gasped out in pain. "Do not touch me..."

A trail of blood followed as he dragged himself up the staircase, to the room that once had been his.

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><p><strong>Historical and Author's Notes:<strong>

1. Italy surrendered to the Allied Forces September 3, 1943, following a rough defeat in North Africa, a bombing of Rome and the invasion of Sicily. The King of Italy at the time, Victor Emmanuel, and his advisors organized the plot to surrender as a means towards peace. The Italians were the weak link of the Axis Powers, and were growing tired of being defeated.  
>2. The Italians were split in their alliances. While they felt like they should remain loyal to the Germans, at the same time they were tired of the dictator regime. They fought alongside the Allied Forces from the beginning of the occupation, but did so in a much disorganized fashion at first, due to reluctance of government officials to relay information to the military.<br>3. The Allied Forces, mainly America, Canada and England, 'invaded' Italy's mainland immediately after the signing of the armistice. King Victor Emmanuel and his advisors welcomed the 'invasion' and part of the armistice was that the Italians would lend the Allies their military to help fight the Germans. (Author found a copy of the armistice online. . So much technical terminology.)  
>4. The Germans had known for months of Italy's plot to surrender, and had surrounded their mainland and all of their supplies, military bases, etc with German troops. This was to prevent an uprising of the Italian troops in alliance with the Allied Forces when the country finally surrendered. When the Italian government surrendered finally, German troops occupied most of Italy's main resources.<br>5. On September 9, 1943, at 2:30AM, 3 of Italy's 'most formidable' battleships slipped out of the harbor under the Germans' watch. German officers were so angered by this, on top of the betrayal, that they rounded up several Italian captains and shot them.  
>6. This author's headcanon is running away with her on Germany and the Holocaust. Bear with me as I work that particular part out. ^^;<p> 


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